Whether it was standing in -22-deg C wind on the Top of Europe or walking cautiously inside a 100-year-old ice cave, each moment carved a space in my memory.
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Work brought me to Munich. Four days of client meetings, structured schedules, and the usual routine. But tucked between appointments and after-hours silence, I found something rare — time. Four unplanned days stretched ahead of me like a blank canvas.
It wasn’t hard to decide where to go. A colleague of mine, who casually drives from Zurich to Munich every week for work, had often talked about how beautiful the route was. His stories — of winding Alpine roads, perfect lakes, and snow-dusted peaks — lingered in my mind. So, without overthinking it, I packed light and pointed myself toward Switzerland.
Moments from Munich
Munich is the kind of city that grows on you with every tram ride, every market visit, and every unexpected pause. Though my primary reason for being there was work, I managed to steal a few golden moments that made the city feel far more than just a backdrop to meetings.
BMW Welt – Munich’s Temple of Innovation
Inside, I found myself surrounded by legends on wheels — from classic BMW models to the latest electric innovations.
A Fairy Tale Detour – Neuschwanstein Castle
One that felt straight out of a fairy tale. The view from Marienbrücke (Mary’s Bridge) was easily one of the most surreal from my trip.
Visiting Neuschwanstein wasn’t originally part of the plan, but I’m glad I trusted the impulse. It reminded me that detours often make the journey richer.
Neuschwanstein Castle, often referred to as “the castle that inspired Disney”, truly looks like it was lifted from the pages of a fairy tale.
A Moment on the Road, one beautiful Sunset
The Ascent to Jungfraujoch – Top of Europe
After arriving in Interlaken, nestled like a postcard between Lake Thun and Lake Brienz, I stood still for a moment, just to take it all in. The town had a quiet pulse — paragliders drifting in the sky, the soft rustle of the breeze across turquoise waters, and the mighty Alps standing guard in the distance.
But I wasn’t going to stop here.
There was one name I had heard over and over — almost in whispers, almost like a challenge: Jungfraujoch. They call it “The Top of Europe”, and for good reason. It’s one of the highest railway stations on the continent, perched at a dizzying 3,454 meters above sea level.
I decided — I had to go.
The journey began with a train from Interlaken Ost. As we chugged forward, the landscapes changed like scenes from a fantasy film — green meadows with grazing cows gave way to thick pine forests, and soon enough, snow began to line the windows.
At Kleine Scheidegg, the real climb began. I switched to the cogwheel train that would take me up through the Eiger and Mönch mountains. The train climbed slowly, deliberately, as if building suspense. Every now and then, it paused at windows carved into the mountain itself, offering a glimpse of the sheer cliff faces and deep ice chasms.
Then suddenly — light. I had reached Jungfraujoch.
The mighty glacier is here.
The Aletsch Glacier, stretching endlessly like a frozen river from another time, stood before me — majestic, solemn, eternal. A sheet of ancient ice, weaving its way between the peaks, untouched and breathtaking.
It was a place where time, nature, and awe converge.
But what truly surprised me was what lay inside the mountain.
A museum — at 3,454 meters above sea level.
Walking through the Alpine Sensation, I was stunned. This wasn’t just a tourist center — it was a moving tribute to the human spirit and engineering marvels that made this place possible. Beautifully lit tunnels, old photographs, glowing walls of ice, and soft music created a dreamlike atmosphere. You’re not just walking through facts—you’re walking through history, passion, and persistence.
I stepped into what they call the Ice Palace — a 100-year-old cave, carved deep into the glacier itself. The moment I entered, the temperature dropped even further, and so did my pace. The floor, ceiling, and walls — everything was ice. Not the smooth kind, but polished, slippery, and treacherous.
Walking was a challenge. Every step was a careful negotiation. One slip, and you’d end up sliding into a frozen sculpture or an unsuspecting tourist. And yet, despite the numbing cold and slippery footing, I couldn’t help but marvel — I was literally walking inside a glacier. A living, breathing, frozen river of time.
The cold was no joke.-22°C.
And still, just outside the observatory, there were tourists posing proudly with the Swiss flag. Some shivered, some laughed, but everyone was united by that collective awe of standing on the roof of Europe. The contrast of bright red flags against the stark white snow made every photograph look iconic — like something off a travel brochure.
As I began my descent from Jungfraujoch, I felt like I was slowly returning from another world — from blinding white silence to color, movement, and sound.
The train began its slow glide back down the mountains, retracing its path through Kleine Scheidegg. But this time, instead of holding my breath in awe, I leaned back and observed.
The landscape had changed again — or maybe I had.
The stillness of the glacier gave way to the laughter of children echoing off the snowy slopes. Outside the train window, I saw families skiing, kids racing each other down small snowy hills, and snowball fights erupting like scenes from a holiday film. There were sleds being dragged uphill, snowmen half-built with crooked carrot noses, and people just lying back in the snow, soaking up the Alpine magic.
The mountains no longer felt quiet and towering — they felt alive, playful, and welcoming.
I stepped out at one of the mid-stations for a short walk. The air was warmer now, just enough to bring back feeling in my fingers. I watched a father trying to teach his daughter how to ski — she kept tumbling down, but her giggles made it clear she was enjoying every fall. Nearby, someone had shaped a snow unicorn. Yes, a unicorn — and people lined up to take selfies with it.
Back in Interlaken, the pace felt gentler. The snow-capped drama of Jungfraujoch was behind me, but the magic hadn’t faded — it had simply changed form.
I looked up and saw paragliders gracefully dotting the sky, swirling like kites in the wind. Launching from nearby hills, they floated above the lakes and fields, catching thermals with effortless grace. The backdrop? Snow-dusted peaks and green valleys that could have been painted.
Right in the middle of Interlaken’s Höhematte Park, standing proudly against the mountains, was the statue of Yash Chopra — the legendary Indian filmmaker who brought the Swiss Alps to the hearts of millions through the lens of Bollywood.
Switzerland, through his eyes, wasn’t just a location — it was a dream.
Lucerne – Postcard Perfection by the Lake
After the thrill of Jungfraujoch and the cinematic embrace of Interlaken, my journey led me to Lucerne — a city that seemed to have stepped out of a painting.
The Chapel Bridge (Kapellbrücke) — Lucerne’s most iconic landmark — was as charming in real life as in every photo I’d ever seen. With its centuries-old wooden planks and colorful triangular paintings under the roof, the bridge felt like walking through time.
Lucerne was a different kind of magic — not dramatic, but poetic. It didn’t overwhelm you; it slowly drew you in. A place where stories seemed to hide in every stone, and time moved just a little slower.
The Journey Ends, but the Story Lives On
From the urban pulse of Munich to the storybook villages of Switzerland, from the gleaming spectacle of BMW Welt to the timeless silence of the Aletsch Glacier, this journey was never just about places — it was about feeling.
I didn’t just see cities; I wandered through history, marvel, and magic. I didn’t just take photographs; I captured moments I’ll carry long after the memory card is full.
Whether it was standing in -22°C wind on the Top of Europe, walking cautiously inside a 100-year-old ice cave, watching children sled down snowy slopes, or unexpectedly finding Yash Chopra’s statue that tied my roots back into the Alps — each moment carved a space in my memory.
Lucerne whispered the final notes. With its calm waters, painted bridges, and mountains that cradled the city like a lullaby, it felt like Switzerland was gently saying goodbye — not with fireworks, but with a warm embrace.
And as the train rolled back through the valleys, I looked out of the window at the fading snowfields and quiet villages and felt something shift within.
Not all journeys change you. But this one did.
Because somewhere between the stillness of the mountains and the joy in the streets, I found a little more of myself.
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